


You'll Never Walk Alone

by Muspell



Series: Hardbacked and Leatherbound [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, KazGang, Otabek's childhood, This is the beggining, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell
Summary: He’s seen a lot throughout the years. Damn, he’s been one of them. He moved from Astana to Almaty on his own while still in high school, dropped out to work and find himself a place. Learnt all he needed to from the streets.He never learnt how to deal with someone like this.





	1. Welcome to Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Sine the order of those fics is kind of chronologic but not quite, I'll just explain it here. This one starts when Otabek's eleven, and finishes when he's seventeen.

He’s seen a lot throughout the years. Damn, he’s been one of them. He moved from Astana to Almaty on his own while still in high school, dropped out to work and find himself a place. Learnt all he needed to from the streets. 

He never learnt how to deal with someone like this.

A kid shivering in the cold, dressed in all black workout clothes and carrying nothing but a gym bag, completely mute. Nuro can tell the boy is not from around here, even when he refuses to say a word, or at least a gesture, only maintaining eye contact. There’s something about his stance, the way he moves, that’s too graceful for the slums; he’s born and raised on the nice side of town, and yet…

“You’re trembling, boy, when’s the last time you ate something? It’s not that chilly today.” Nuro knows how he looks, of course he does: he’s planned that look. A matter of survival. You need to seem bigger than the rest, you need people to know you can snap their necks if they step out of line. He doesn’t care about the way they stare at his broad shoulders, black and red ink mixing up in words and patterns on his arms to fuse in a blood dripped eagle on his back, wings spread and ready to hunt. The way the stare at the red trail of spikes he forms his hair in every morning, making him even taller.  

He knows little kids like this one (because he sure is little) can get scared by him, and the tattoos and the chains and. But he’s not.

He’s never once looked away. 

There’s a fire in his eyes. Determination. Life.

He’s not from around here. 

“Come inside kid, you’ll freeze to death there.” It’s not a particularly cold day, it’s true: the winter has been much harsher before, especially in this part of town. The derelict buildings offer little haven against the harsh winds whistling through every uncovered opening: doors and windows have been ripped off pretty much every one by squatters, taking refuge in the heart of brick giants as abandoned as they were. They don’t help much but they can stop the rain more often than not, if you choose the right spot to sleep in. Nuro has an apartment now, he doesn’t need to hide in a tattered room with other families anymore; but this kid has nowhere. Well, he has a place somewhere, where someone might be looking for him, that’s for sure; he’s a blue blooded and well mannered boy. And of course, absolutely fearless. He’s an easy target. 

Nuro extends his hand and the boy’s shoulders  _ shake _ ; he’s about to put it away, convinced he’s actually scared the child, when he notices the blue lips, and rattling teeth. It’s not him, he decides. 

“Child, you’ll catch a cold.” The kid’s mouth is a thin line, pressed together to stop the quivering, his eyes colliding light against the dark circles under his eyes, his face lacking the tenderness of youth. Nuro knows he’s young, too young for this, at least; certainly small. “Are you lost? Is someone looking for you?” He doesn’t even blink. Only his chest moves, up and down underneath the thin coat. His teeth rattle and Nuro can hear them like a thunderstorm ripping the sky open, drumming into his ears. Years of living in the neighbourhood and he hasn’t yet become accustomed to stray children. He knows he never will. The boy doesn’t make a sound. “I have a phone, boy, do you know your house phone number? You must have one.” Not a word. Not a grumble. Not even a shake of the head. Just a glare, and a fire on deep brown eyes that won’t be put down. “Work with me here, your parents must be worried sick for you.”

The boy holds his breath, takes a step back. Parents, huh? Nuro can’t say he hasn’t seen the reaction before. The boy’s a runaway. Yet that doesn’t mean his family isn’t looking for him, and he can’t have a kid in his care (the boy is definitely in his care now, no matter how much he tries to refuse him) without letting his relatives know he’s safe. That he won’t hurt him. His door has been knocked down more than once by too-loud parents, too-forceful parents, looking for too-bruised kids; every time they were legally allowed to barge in anyways, him having minors in the house and all. Every time Nuro has had to quietly bury down the impulse of punching the parents’ teeth down. 

“Fine.” He puts up his hands in defeat; the boy barely blinks at it. Well, he did move, it’s a small win. He has yet to have a more important one “how about some dinner?”

He runs back to the crowd where the kid escaped from: there’s a big riot of noise and screaming, and the tuning of electric guitars. There’s a street gig today, one of many the neighbourhood did to give the musicians a chance to shine while gathering all of the outcasts in one place. Because wherever there was a street gig, there was a sort of improvised soup kitchen in the middle of a sidewalk, offering a hot meal to whoever needed it. And the boy really needs it right now. He finds the neighbours preparing the food fairly easy by the steam and the smell of the chicken stew; he makes his best puppy eyes at the robust elderly lady organizing the line, and she lets him through without so much as a warning. He knows well he got the special treatment not for his cuteness, but because he’s used to look after the most timids of kids around. He still teases her about it, still gets a flick on his ear and two steaming disposable bowls of food. 

By the time Nuro approaches his building door, the kid’s sitting by himself on the steps, shrinking inside his jacket. He sits by the boy’s side, a good two feet away from him and hands him a plate while setting his own on his lap. The boy doesn’t budge. “Well? I’m not gonna bite you, you know.” He fidgets, brushing his feet together, looking down. He must be too hungry to keep his act for too long. “I promise it’s not poisoned” Nuro laughs in between mouthfuls of food. The kid finally takes the plate and digs in, his eyes widening slightly at the first taste: the thing is glorious, Nuro can’t possibly blame him. He can, however, see right through the pulled back eagerness on the boy’s ways: he still keeps every thought to himself in order not to scare him. The kid must have been on the streets for some time now, judging by the hunger he fails to keep hidden; his plate empties almost immediately and he looks down almost ashamed. No, scratch that: definitely in shame. 

“You can ask for seconds if you want, it’s fine. There’s plenty.” At least Nuro can make sure the boy eats well for tonight. And he’ll make sure he sleeps comfortably. On a bed, that is. He’ll work on that. 

The kid stands up suddenly, plate in hand. “Wait, kiddo, you’re a guest, you can just-” And of course, as gentlemanly as he is, the boy goes on to throwing his own garbage away. Nuro can’t decide if it’s charming or extremely irritating; why can’t the child just let Nuro take care of him? “Stay. But you weren’t going anywhere, were you?.” He huffs under his breath. This kid is unbelievable. He’s stubborn as a mule, and won’t say a word, yet he’s polite enough to clean up after himself, even when he’s been on the street for days. Nuro is starting to think he’s got it all wrong, that the kid might actually- 

“Do you even speak?” The kid turns to him only to disregard his words and sit back down on the steps. Nuro feels a sting of guilt: what if he actually  _ can’t _ ? He wouldn’t be the first kid left on the slums because their parents don’t know how to deal with their special needs. Nuro might have been trying to squeeze a word out of an actually mute child. That’s low. And rude. “Oh shit, don’t you? That’s- I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry, I didn’t know, I-” 

The kid walks to him, standing barely a couple of feet away, hands joined in front of his body. Nuro’s convinced the child must be some sort of boy soldier by the way he moves. The kid simply vows at him (is he saying thank you?) and goes back to sitting at the furthest corner of the slim staircase; Nuro can see him fidgeting even when his face doesn’t show any trace of nervousness. He’s still a little boy at a stranger’s house after all. 

“So.” He starts, trying to make conversation while looking straight ahead. It’s mostly a reflex move at this point; it helps scared people not to feel so invaded. It doesn’t make any sense when he can feel the boy’s eyes almost drilling into his skull. He turns to the kid. “No parents, gotcha. How about grandparents?” No reaction. He keeps on trying. “No? Aunts? Uncles? Family friends? Teachers?” He’s running out of ideas and the only thing he thinks he can see on the kid’s face is a slight twitch down on the corner of his lips, the smallest scrunch in his nose. “Hell, brothers? Sisters?” 

There’s a reaction. The boy widens his eyes for just a fraction of a second. Well, Nuro think he has: it’s a minimum change in his expression, almost unrecognizable if he hadn't’ been staring at the boy, trying to read him. He tries again.

“Brother?” A grimace. Tiny but still there. No, that’s not it. “Sister?” The boy looks down, just for a moment. “So, sister it is. Don’t you wanna speak to her?” The boy huffs and his gaze shifts away at the dirt on the steps to Nuro’s door. He’s known some difficult kids, but this one’s something else. He might probably be actually mute for all he knows. “Look, you can use my phone, I won’t even eavesdrop. I promise.” He extends his hand but the child doesn’t budge. He shrugs and walks up to unlock the building door. “Last chance, little one: it’s either a bed and a phone or back on the streets. Your choice.” He hates having to be this tough, but he doesn’t have another choice; he can’t think of anything else but this, beside manhandling the kid into his apartment, but that would be actual kidnapping, even when it’s for the child’s own safety. Nuro’s trying his best not to cross that line. 

“Well,” Nuro speaks as if he were alone, ”I’m just gonna take a shower. Long day today.” He pays no attention to the boy sitting completely quiet besides him. Still, he feels a little resistance when he tries to close the door behind him: a tiny hand is holding it open. He smirks to himself and lets the boy follow him in silence, always two steps behind. 

He doesn’t need to look around as he runs up the three set of stairs and leaves his own door hanging open for him, to know the kid hasn’t moved an inch since he’s stepped inside, looking at his surroundings as if a chainsaw killer was about to pop out of some wall. 

Nuro chuckles away, grabbing a change of clothes from his room and turning the shower on. It takes a while for the water to start running a bit warmer than burning ice cold. He can always tell when that is because of the clanking of the water against the pipes: the noise gets slowly quieter as the water warms up; yet tonight he stays in the bathroom, trying to listen over the infernal rattling. He can hear nothing: the boy mustn't have moved from his place, surely because he can hear the water running all the way to the tub with no interruptions. Either the boy has died on his spot, or he’s more cautious than Nuro was expecting. He sighs and takes his clothes off, chains loudly clashing onto the floor tiles; he won’t get one thing out of the kid like this. 

Nuro walks out of the bathroom, his hair tied up on a messy bun at the back of his head and dripping on his tattered shirt, and stops on his tracks before getting closer to the little kid turning his back to him, clutching the phone desperately. 

“Don’t, I’m fine, I’m…. I don’t want to.” His voice is much sweeter than Nuro thought, much more high pitched. So he can speak, and fondly as well. But love is not all Nuro can hear on the tone: there’s also despair, fear. He’s pleading for something. “I can’t, sister, please.” The boy is whining to whoever is on the other side of the call, as if someone was forcing him to pull the trigger of a gun, barrel resting against some head. Nuro just hopes it’s not the kid’s; he still knows better. 

He waits until the kid hangs up and leans against the wall, sighing deeply. “Tough talk?” The kid practically jumps in the air when he hears him close; he was too focused on the chat he didn’t even noticed when he got out of the bathroom. “Anything I can do?” 

The kid looks defeated, his mask shattered in pieces. Pouting and  _ Damn, _ he really looks like a vulnerable child now, the fire in his eyes all but put out behind the gleam of tears on the corner of his eye; he still refuses to cry, he’s still a warrior. He clenches his teeth before speaking to stop his voice from breaking. It doesn’t make a difference. “They’re coming.”

“Who’s they, boy?” Nuro crouches to look at the kid in the eye, smiling. He wants the kid to feels safe again. It’s so clearly not working. 

“Mom and Dad.” The kid stares at him, his mouth twitched downwards. He pulls the trigger. “They’re coming for me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Nuro sighs loudly, rolling his stiff shoulders against the tiny plastic chair he’s forced to stay quiet on while the police officer finishes the report. Which is taking ages. The young woman in front of him grunts at the sound and keeps writing without even lifting her gaze. She might be in an uniform and all, she might have a gun on her waist, but fuck, she’s rude. 

“I was just trying to help-”

“No talking.” She interrupts him. Demands. It’s not like Nuro tried to hurt the kid: he was just being a good neighbor. He just fed a starving child, for fuck’s sake. She lifts her gaze from the papers for just one second. “You’ve done enough.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and leans back into the back of the chair, regretting it the second he feels the edges of it bury into his back. Sure, he’s in the place of the offender here, but come on, there’s no need for torture and that is definitely what that chair is there for. The charges against him are being dropped, so the stone faced police woman could just drop the act and treat him like a human being for once, not like, say, a serial killer. Or a child abuser. He was just trying to help! 

He scoffs and turns to where the child is standing in between his parents, expecting to eavesdrop the discussion.

There is none. 

The boy is just standing there, head down, while his parents murmur small phrases so soft they fail to reach Nuro’s ears, yet they are harsh enough he can see the boy flinching every time. And the sister, well…

The sister was a particular one. Tough as nails, for sure; she waltzed into his house like it belonged to her the second Nuro opened the door to call her baby brother to her. As if he wasn’t even there. And then there was the scolding. She, a tall lean teenager, way too loud for her own sake, put a finger in front of his face and  _ scolded him _ for taking his brother in, tiptoes and all. A girl he could have easily picked up and put back down at the door side of his door as if she was no more than a ragdoll. The girl has some nerve, especially when it concerns her boy; Nuro didn’t dare interrupt her as her parents were climbing the stairs to his apartment. The girl doesn’t need to look dangerous, to be big or fight to demonstrate that she’s strong enough: she has the gaze of a warrior. The face of someone who’s not willing to let go no matter how hard it gets. The same eyes as her brother. She’s the one that convinced brick-wall-face to drop the charges after all, screaming at her face that all of it was a mistake, and her brother was  _ meant _ to be visiting Nuro. He just forgot to tell his parents, he’s a kid, sometimes it happens. No big deal, right?

Yet now she’s just standing there, quiet, mortified almost; a hand clasped onto the boy’s shoulder, gripping him more tightly with every twitch of his mouth. Nuro suspects that this is the kid’s favored form of protest in this game he knows he can’t win. 

Nuro could help. There’s definitely a lot Nuro could do to help. The boy is clearly uncomfortable, ashamed. Scared, even. No little kid should be scared around their own parents. 

There’s so much he could do to help; he has to fight the urge to walk up there and give the father (who’s currently spitting something so venomous in such a courteous way it makes the boy take a step back) a piece of his mind as the officer makes him repeat his own name for the thousandth time. Nuro Aslanovich Niyazov, and he’s about to either rip the clipboard off the girl’s hand and write it down himself, or he’s gonna march over there and rip the man’s head off. But he can’t he won’t: not the place, not the time, not the way. 

He can help this kid. But not like this. 

He sits obediently, nodding and answering every question he needs to in order to fill the damn paperwork at once. He stares to a particularly shaped damp stain on the otherwise white wall in front of him, resisting the urge to turn around and check on the kid. He can help. He doesn’t even know the boy’s name, but he’s willing to. And that’s always enough for him. He’ll get the details later.

 

* * *

 

 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about the little guy. He was completely silent and unreadable, sure,but at least he was somewhat comfortable. No, that’s not word. Safe. At least the boy was safe. 

And Nuro didn’t even get the chance to ask for his name. Because he’s a ‘danger to the minor’ as Officer BrickWall Face said. Or because ‘why the hell would  _ you  _ need to know that’, as sister said. It was adorable to hear her call him ‘little bear’ and all, to see him lean onto her hand as she scratched his scalp softly, but it still didn’t help. 

He did ask; Christ, he asked.But the boy was like a shadow, only a handful of people remembered him, and those who did had no idea whee he’d come from; only that he was most definitely an outsider. A vanishing one, too: he left as he’d arrived, so subtly even the lady at the tattered motel lone kids use to take refuge in was still expecting him for dinner. 

It has been just a few days since the arrest, yet Nuro felt like he’d been separated from the boy for years, as if there was something tying them together. The same thing that made the kid sit right on his doorstep just as he was coming back home that day. It can’t all be just a weird coincidence, right?

It can’t be, Nuro reassures himself as he opens the door to his apartment, bag of groceries dangerously wobbling in his arms, to be greeted by the faint smell of lavender and bleach. He doesn’t even own a lavender scented cleaner. He thinks fast, going for the first, although seriously unlikely, option that pops up in his head. 

“... Kiddo, is that you?” He waits by the diner table, having abandoned his bags there, for an answer. He knows no one will answer. What is he even waiting for? He’s not there, of course he’ not. It’s crazy to even imagine-

“I wanted to cook for you.” The child’s voice sounds much more certain than he looks,almost hiding behind the bathroom door, a hand clenching a wet cloth against the wall. “I…” He looks down and the fire in his eyes melts into a much more childish shade of shyness, fingers drumming against the doorframe. “I don’t know how.” 

He’s embarrassed. He’s embarrassed and it’s the most adorable thing Nuro has ever seen: he has to stop himself from bear hugging the little boy, but cannot contain the laughter the escapes him. “You don’t need to, you’re a guest! Always welcome!” He cackles and grabbed the groceries again to put them in place. Good thing he went grocery shopping today of all days; what a real coincidence, isn’t it? “And speaking of. Just quit it, boy. This place is already cleaner than it ever has been.” And it’s true: Nuro is far from a slob but he’s never really bothered to scrub the soot stains off the walls from the previous tenant’s cooking. Having in mind than ‘tenant’ is a bit too strong a word. And ‘cooking’. Unlike himself, the boy seems to have quite some attention to detail. “Come and sit. We need to have a bit of a talk, don’t we?”

The kid hesitates before dropping the rag in the bathroom sink and take a seat in the chair furthest from the kitchen door, as always. Nuro chuckles to himself: ‘as always’, as if they hadn’t spent only one evening, one dinner together. He doesn’t even know the kid’s name yet, and he’s thinking of them as friends already! 

Although the kid does need a friend.

Nuro finishes his chore and settles down right in front of the boy, a full table length away, as always. He chuckles again and the kid frowns. “I’m sorry,kiddo, you’re just… so  _ you. _ ” He has no idea what that means but then again, h has no idea who this kid is, so it fits somehow. 

“You don’t know who I am.” The boy adds in a monotone. 

“True. Let’s fix that.” Nuro jumps up his chair to fetch whatever drink he can find on his fridge. Due to the bartending job discount, he’s got a good number of them; most of them inappropriate for growing children. He settles for two glasses of orange juice and goes back to his seat, sliding one of the glasses to the other side of the table; lifts his as in toast. “Nuro Niyazov. And you are?” 

“I just wanted to say thank you. For the meal.” The kid looks at his shoes and his words starts to pile up on each other, as if he had just a brief moment to speak before he falls silent again. “And the… um,” His mouth crunches in a pout as he fidgets under the table, his gaze trying to find something on the walls to fixate on. It can’t find anything, so it goes back to the feet. “Caring, I guess. Just. I’m gonna go now.” 

The boy slowly gets up from his chair and towards the door when Nuro cuts him short, letting a huge hand fall into the small kid’s shoulder. “I’m not stopping you, I’m just wondering.  _ Where _ are you going, exactly?” 

“Well-”

“To the streets?” The boy lowers his gaze, bites his lip. He’s not planning to go back home. “To the motel with no functioning bathrooms, no meals, not even a damn blanket to cover up with?” The kid fidgets but doesn’t answer. “We don’t know each other, sure, but I’m offering my home to you. If you want.” Nuro adds the last line just to not sound too pushy; he wouldn’t be able to read the difference on the boy’s face anyways. 

“I don’t want to be a bother.”  _ Ouch _ . Nuro knows what he means, he’s been there. Well, not exactly, but he’s been around enough shitty parents to recognize a child’s need to get away. 

“How could you if I’m inviting you, kiddo?” He ruffles the boy’s hair and feels him flinch. But not pull away. “So? What’s the deal?” Nuro kneels to look at the boy in the eye. “Should I make the extra bed for you?” By bed he means a pull out couch, but it works. Especially for such a small kid. 

The same small kid who’s currently offering him his hand. “Otabek Altin. I guess you should.”

  
  



	2. Brickfield Nights

Nuro is still pacing around the apartment, much to his guests’ dismay. Azad already put on his headphones to drown out the impulse of throwing yet another pillow at him, since that would have meant getting up from the couch he’s slouching on and he’s definitely not willing to. Dasha takes turns in between hissing at each of them to scroll through her phone; the plane has landed thirty minutes ago and none of them have heard anything from the visitors yet. She can’t really blame Nuro for being so anxious.

She still does, though. It’s irritating to watch. “Would you please calm the fuck down? You’re gonna pierce your way into the neighbour’s flat downstairs.”

“There’s no one downstairs, they got busted for selling some shit,” Nuro replies before the words settle into his head, “at least there’s no kitchen in the building anymore.”  He turns to her when he realizes what she meant. “How could you _not_ be nervous, by the way? It’s taking them _so long.”_

“They’re fine, Nuro, relax.” She scoffs, dropping her phone on her lap, feet propped up on the dining table. Nuro hates that, but he’s learned some battles are just not worth fighting, like Dasha’s and her filthy boots on every available surface. At least they negotiated the shoes off.

She grunts as Nuro shifts on the ball of his feet, making use of all of his willpower not to stroll nervously around again. “Look, they know where to go, he’s not alone. He didn’t forget about us; he couldn’t have. They’ll be here any minute now, so relax or I’ll have to chain you to the damn chair.” Her voice gradually grows from soothing to pissed off to aggressive. Nothing unusual in her, really.

Nuro laughs it out even knowing Dasha’s being completely serious. She’s very much capable of trying, that much he’s sure of.

He still texts the couple still on their way; the eagerness is stronger than him, and he needs to see them _now_.

Well, he texts her, really, not them. And as every Altin, Aika is annoyingly cryptic, especially when she knows she can play with his mind so easily. ‘We’ll get there when we get there’, she texts back and Nuro places the phone down on the table delicately to restraint himself from crushing it to pieces in his hand.

He walks into the kitchen to make sure the bar’s fully stocked and ready as he certainly does _not_ take a good sip straight out of a Bombay Sapphire bottle, pourer and all, to soothe his nerves. He hears a knock at the door; a pretty violent knock, so it must be someone who knows his home, someone who’s aware of his reinforced door. He doesn’t get it on time: Dasha moves faster and opens up, blocking the view of whoever is at the other side. He can only guess who it is by Dasha's greeting.

“I figured you’d be taller by now.”

“Well, good evening to you too.” The visitor spits out and Nuro _knows that voice._ The snarky tone underneath well mannered words, the hidden ‘fuck you too’ under the monotone. He’s too used to it not to hear it,no matter how much time. And fuck, it’s been so long.

But finally, his boy has come back home.

He runs to the door before he can even notice, pushing Dasha away and embracing a jetlagged, tired as hell Otabek Altin in his arms, lifting him off the floor. “You’re back!” The bag on the boy’s hands (he’s hardly a boy now, isn’t he?) drops on the floor with a loud thud and he tried to protest his way out of the hug. “I missed you!”

“I can’t feel my arms, Nuro.” Otabek says, muffled against the man’s shoulder in a slightly too tight embrace. It’s not like Nuro’s trying to break him: he could go much tighter. Nuro still chuckles as he releases him, watching the boy rub his arms back to life. “Hey.” He adds, with a shy smile; he might be more grown up, much more trained, but he’s still the same timid little boy after all.

“Welcome back, champ.” Nuro beams and invites them both in with a bow. Aika giggles behind the boy and pats his shoulder, encouraging him to go inside.

As Otabek walks in, his sister’s hand on his shoulder and Dasha linking her arm on his, Azad turns into the couch to welcome him his own way: stretching the best he can to grab one of the pillows he threw at Nuro before to aim at the newcomer, who only notices him when the cushion hits him right in the face.

And when he cackles like a maniac afterwards, slipping butt first into the floor.

“Ain’t I supposed to be the child here?” Otabek scoffs, kicking the pillow at his feet away.

Azad lifts up from the floor, patting the dirt out of his ass unceremoniously in the process, to grab him by his arms. “Well, you’re not one anymore. You’ve _grown_ , boy.” He grins and Otabek just rolls his eyes at him, flinching as the man slaps his biceps to prove a point. “Man, you’ve buffed up!”

“And you made it.” Nuro chimes in at his back, having kicked the heavy door shut and dropped Otabek’s bags on the dinner table. He flops on a chair, his arm propped up on the back of the seat to point at the boy. “The prodigal son has returned home, huh? With honors.”

Dasha takes a seat on the table as Aika moves to the kitchen. Nuro doesn’t mind it much: at least it’s not her feet. He still scowls at her for good measure.

Otabek fidgets. Or Nuro thinks he does; he’s bigger now. Taller, the baby fat on his cheeks gone, the impulsive clumsiness of his moves replaced by a calculated motion every time he takes his sister’s hand, or even makes a step. He’s different, years have passed since Nuro’s last seen him, yet he’s still so difficult to read. But Nuro knows the boy; and the boy fidgets, unsure. “A lot has happened.” Otabek finally manages to say after a long silence, and he gets it.

He knows. He’s been on the receiving end of too many desperate late night phone calls (late on Otabek’s end: they were at mid afternoon for him, but he knows despair when he hears it, no matter how hard the kid tried to hide to sobbing and gaspìng for air), read too many texts of the other kid letting him know his protegé was in jail again. Fighting, mostly. Intoxication, public indecency, property damage, occasionally. Fire, even; that was a tough one. Nuro doesn’t know the details of it, he couldn’t have. He’s aware Aika does: she let him know only that Otabek was making too many bad choices for Nuro to know and not take the next plane to the States.  Honestly, that only made him want to actually take the damn plane, but they were in some deep shit themselves to be flying away right then. And he knew perfectly well Otabek would just growl at them and walk away if he was so troubled; he’s known him as a street kid, he knows the boy would.

Still, there’s no criminal record that could stain on his achievement. Otabek brought a damn medal back home, for fuck’s sake; he’s a true hero. He should know that. “Yeah: you raised up from the ashes and came back with a medal hanging from your neck. I’d say that’s a lot.” Nuro replies in between chuckles. He won’t allow the boy to diminish his own triumph. Not on his watch. “You’re our champ now, kiddo.”

“It’s just a bronze, Nuro.” Otabek dismisses him with a huff, yet he keeps on laughing.

“Just a _bronze_ ?”  He looks straight at the boy’s eye, fierce and determined as always. There’s no storm capable of putting his fire away. “A world’s bronze, boy! You’re the third best in _the world_. How is that little for you! You made experienced skater tremble on their blades.” He gets up to hold Otabek’s jaw in his hands, forcing him to look up. “You’re a warrior, you stood your ground. You made a name for yourself.” He lets the words sink in before continuing. “You should be proud.”

The boy looks away despite the hands firmly holding him in place. A smile slowly creeps into him, twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah.” He grins and meets Nuro’s gaze again, his eyes gleaming with a spark he hasn’t seen in a while. Not since he called him to let him know about _the boy in the camp._ He’s glowing of happiness. Nuro’s certain he is, too. “Yeah, I am.”

Glass against wood; five bottles hit the table with a thud, all at once. Aika sits and smirks at them as she opens every beer bottle in front of her and hands them over, one by one. Nuro sees ir as his cue to step off; he sits on the table to let the sibling have their own welcome or whatever she’s planning, and Azad follows his lead.

“So,” she starts, sipping on her beer as Otabek walks to her to take his, the cold droplets on it hiding under his fingertips. “Have you seen him?”

He doesn’t take the bait. Of course he doesn’t he’s too clever to fall so easily. He just drink his beer slowly. “Seen who?”

“The Ice Prince. Plisetsky, of course.” It’s a family thing, really, but each of them had picked it up when they notice how quickly Otabek’s façade would drop, blushing furiously at the sound of it. The Ice Prince. Zhamila’s idea: she insisted the boy looked like a fairytale prince, all pricks and needles on the outside but fair as an angel, sliding gracefully on the ice as he’d own it, the cold hard surface obeying him more like him bending to its whims. She’ve said once she was sure he has never fallen, not once. Otabek knew for a fact he has, he’s told Nuro as much; Nuro’d still agree with her. If Otabek was a warrior, the blond kid looked like the God of War, untouchable and yet still scarred, still hardened by the spilled blood on the ice.

He can’t really say he’s as stunned by this Plisetsky as Otabek was, though; he rocks on the ball of his feet, tapping his fingers nervously against the bottle as he tries to hood down the blushing of his face to no avail. “Don’t call him that.” He scoffs, offended, and it sounds far more like a whine than a scolding. Aika giggles but doesn’t interrupt; he’ll shut up if anyone does. “He’s a junior, we’re not together.”

“Oh?” Aika lifts a brow, and now it’s Dasha and Azad who laugh at it. Together, huh? Nuro thought the boy was smarter than this, but hey, he’s in real deep after all.

“On the ice, I mean. On competition. Just…” Otabek scoffs and lets himself drop on the chair. Years of whatever might have happened to him won’t take the child away from him. Not in Almaty, at least. Not at home. “You know what I mean, sister.”

“Oh, I do. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy seeing you stutter, though.” She sips on her bottle again as her brother glares at her.

“It is kinda adorable, really.” Nuro adds in, trying to look as composed as Aika does and choking on his beer by trying to repress the laughter. Well, there goes his image; then again, he has nothing to hide to any of them. And it’s all worth it when he hears Otabek laugh.

“You can’t even have a beer without dying, Nuro.” Otabek replies, a smile still dancing on his lips and the man doesn’t even care how silly he must look, all flushed and sputtering. “You have nothing on me.”

“Oh, but I do.” Aika nurses her bottle, twisting it slowly in one hand while her cheek rest in the other, a feline glint in her eyes. “Little Prince is moving upwards, isn’t he?”

That’s what Plisetsky have said on the press conference at least: after winning the gold at Junior Worlds, the kid had showed up late only to tell the world he was getting into the Senior competitions on the next season and stormed off just as agressively asd he arrived, his coach furiously shouting on his heels. If Otabek is a never ending flame, then this one was gunpowder ready to explode. Nuro couldn’t stop cackling as he watched the transmission: the boy his protegé is head over heels for is a firecracker, an earthquake leaving a trail of shocked reporters and coaches red faced from yelling so much behind him, And a love smitten boy who grew into an equally love smitten young man, determined to meet him, no matter how long it takes. Nuro knows he could accomplish much more than that, but then again, Otabek’s way might be the safest right now. At least until the next season, when the finally get to sate on the same rink.

“You’ve improved a lot in a few months,” Dasha speaks absentmindedly, as if she was talking to herself, “climbed up the top in just one season.”

“Almost as if you were trying to impress someone, huh?” Azad says, trying hard not to giggle; he still does when Otabek reaches out to flick his ear.

“What’s with all the judging? I just brought home a medal.” He consciously avoids the word _bronze,_ the pause he’s done makes the hesitation obvious. He hides behind his beer, gulping it on a pout, trying hard to look offended. No one’s buying it anyways. Still Nuro empties his own beer in one sip out of sympathy, gets up to get another round for everyone and place the bottles on the table.

“Not judging, little bear.” Aika brushes slowly the lips of her bottle and Nuro recognizes that look in her eyes, carefully calculated yet still somehow feral. It’s the same look she had when she offered him partnership on their bar: even though he doesn’t regret it, he knows he’s been played like a fiddle. People don’t partner up with accountants; they follow their lead blindly. “Judging is too big a word, don’t you think? I’d say…” She pretends to think, a finger resting on her lips, “More like planning. Big game coming up.”

“No.” Otabek spits out so quickly he can’t hide the twist of terror on his face. “No,” he repeats and stands pointing at her in warning, “this is not a game. Don’t you _dare,_ Aidana.”

“You’ve been swooning for the kid for what? Four years now?” Dasha snorts and gulps down the rest of the beer to take another one at the center of the table.

Otabek plunges back down onto his seat, twirling the just opened bottle in his hand, staring at the lights toying around the dark glass. “He was a Junior. What did you expect me to do?” There’s no sharp edges on hisa words, no venom. He was always one to do as he pleases, even without compromising his gentlemanly ways, yet this time he seems truly preoccupied. He’s not one to doubt his steps, not like this. Not aloud. That boy Plisetsky must be truly something, huh?

“Relax, Champ.” Nuro slams his second bottle against the table to snap him out of his daydreaming, “He’ll _adore_ you. You’re the badass of the whole skating world, man, who wouldn’t?”

“And you still have _the thing.”_ Dasha adds, pressing her index finger on her lips, right in the middle. “Right?”

She can’t mean the two rings he took off before Worlds: he’s let them know he’ll not be wearing those anymore, still keeping the ones in his ear and brow. Still, probably not for long: they remind him of his time away from home, of things he doesn’t to think about anymore.

There must be something else Nuro hasn’t heard of.

“I do.” Otabek replies after a long sip of his already warm drink, scowling at her a second after. “I’m not luring him in with dirty tricks.”

“As _wonderful_ as he might be, he’s still a human being. Hot blooded and all.” Azad jumps in, chuckling. Of course, Dasha and him were practically joined by the hip: if one of them knows something, the other must as well. Still, by the curious look on Aika’s face, they seem to be the only ones. “Call it strategy.”

“I’ll call it scheming. And I’ll pass, thank you.” Otabek tone shifts: it isn’t nearly as polite as his words are.

“I’ll be curious, if you don’t mind.” Aika interrupts in a voice so sweet it feels like honey dripping from her tongue. The kind of nectar desing to catch flies with. “What thing?”

Otabek huffs and leans back on his chair, running his free hand through his hair as an excuse to cover the embarrassed blush on his face. “It was a stupid thing, alright? I just… decided to stick to it. I sort of liked it with time.” He shrugs, trying to shake off his sister’s intense glare on him.

She doesn’t budge; must be a family thing then, Nuro reckons. They’re some strong willed individuals right there. Stubborn as it gets.

“What thing, brother?” Her tone doesn’t change. Still, her brother flinches.

“JJ asked me to go with him to the tattoo parlor to have his back inked after practice. He was…” He sighs before continuing, “Loud. I think that’s the only way to describe it. He always was, but one would think he wouldn’t make such a fuzz on his third tattoo.” He takes a sip out of the beer and winces; that stuff must be warm cat piss by now, Nuro’s truly impressed at the boy’s determination to finish it. “I honestly felt bad from the artist that had to put up with it… And I might have wanted to dare him to shut it. I waited until they were finished and ask the guy to pierce me.” Otabek chuckles as if it was a private joke none of them knew about. “JJ was already trying to encourage me and all, as if I was gonna get scared, until he heard where. The he turned _white._ ”

“What did you do, Beka?” Aika tilts her head to the side, puzzled, a fond smile twitching her lips upwards. Nuro watches silently as Otabek drops his shoulders, defeated if it not were for the smirk on his face. He stares at her and pulls his tongue out slowly, a tiny bright metal ball resting right in the middle of it. She giggles. Nuro was expecting some scolding for sure, but then again… This is Aika. She’s proud of him no matter what. “Well, that’s…” she giggles again, biting her lip to stop herself, “that’s something.”

“I meant to take it off, I just -” Otabek starts with what sounds like an apology, but she cuts him short.

“It’s nice. Looks good on you.” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “But I’ll have to agree with you, it _is_ foul play.”

“I don’t mean to-”

“Still.” Otabek scoffs as his sister interrupts him once more. The gang knows it’s only to piss him off, yet it works every time. “What did Leroy say?”

Otabek snorts, a smirk crawling into his face. “It was a weekend, he told everyone what _a completely fuck up I’ could be_.” He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “He was out of it. It’s not like it was my first, but the the location…” He laughs more openly at the memory and Nuro feels a grin growing on him. “I’ve never showed anyone else, not willingly. Half of the rink never even believed him. But him? I’d wait for him to be the only one looking at me just to show him. And watch him wince.”

“I can see why you love it, then” Aika replies, bursting into giggles.

“I don’t love it! I- “ Otabek huffs, unable to hide the wide smile, “Fuck it, it looks nice and I’m keeping it.” He chuckles as the gang burst into laughter and words of encouragement. And some hair ruffling, because it never gets old. The champ is still the kid in the group, no matter how grown he is.

“Speaking of keeping, where are you staying? I still have the bed I bought when you were a kiddy.” Nuro adds as he puts down his bottle, already empty, and slumps back into his chair. “Sure, there’s more than the two of us in the house now but-”

“I’m buying an apartment near here, don’t worry. I’ve got myself a room in the meantime.” They practically speak at the same time; Otabek seems to realize Nuro’s words only after he’s finished talking. “Wait, more? Who are you living with?” He raises a brow at the man, who huffs in response.

“I’m not that poor of a catch to have to die alone, y’know. _Specially having your sister around._ ” Nuro tries to sound terribly offended, and it must have worked by the face of horror on the boy. Well, what you could call horror in an Altin’s face: eyebrows slightly raised, eyes slightly widened, mouth falling open. Immediate stuttering trying to apologize. He laughs it all off and shuts him up with a wave of his hand. “I’m kidding, boy! We’re not living together per se, but we soon will.”

“Yeah, one less wall and one more bathroom. Sounds like a neat deal.” aika chimes in and Otabek turns to her in shock. “We’re not dating, we’re living together. Will be living together. The whole ‘finding someone to get the actual work done without tearing the whole building apart’ is a bit more complicated than what I first thought.” she pauses to take a slim cigarette out of a tin can on her pocket and light it, carefully balanced in between her lips. “But we’re getting there.” She takes a drag, slowly, eyes closed; the thing smells like fresh baked vanilla-y for some reason. She’s prone to buy different flavored cigarettes every time, but she always buys the same when her little brother comes to visit; as he snatches the cigarette away from her hand Nuro chuckles. The boy has a preference for the things he shouldn’t enjoy: illegality, boys who live way too far away and Kiss Romantics. He’s always been one up to the challenge, after all.

“We’re gonna need a drink,” the boy says as silence starts to coat the reunion, in a puff of smoke, “an _actual_ drink.”

“Yeah, let’s welcome our champion how he deserves.” Dasha jumps right in, leaning closer to Otabek as he allows her to take the cigarette out of his hand without using hers. She takes a long drag and pulls the cig away, tilting her head up to breath out small smoke rings over their heads. “With vices and love and a lot of tequila.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, what are you gonna do while you’re there?”

The laptop is old and slow and shitty, and so is its webcam. Nuro can barely tell the boy dressed in all black, as usual, from the dark tapestry on his hotel room couch. He’s still amazed they actually give him a room with a couch, even though Otabek’s said it was because he’s sharing it with his coach. He can still tell exactly where he is as he flinches at the sound of his sister's voice, echoing a bit too loud in his own speakers.

“I’m gonna win a fucking medal, Aika. What did you expect?” The boy spits out, glaring. At least Nuro feels like he is, but then again, in the laggy one-frame-a-minute his face moves, who could ever tell if it’s not just the video freezing.

“You _know_ what I mean, little bear. Play with me?” She please, cheekily, making puppy eyes at him; Nuro would be surprised if the boy can actually see it through that shit. He was surprised enough when Otabek called and could notice his sister snuggling up to Nuro’s chest on their couch, waiting for him. Either the camera isn’t as bad as he’s determined to believe, or the kid has a lot of experience with shitty video quality.

The boy sighs; he definitely sees it, then. “I am _not_ gonna prepare a speech, or a dinner, or anything. Don’t be so dramatic, sister.” Nuro chuckles and promptly grips the laptop screen with one, stopping it from falling over.

“Fine,” she singsongs, pouting, “but only because I know _for a fact_ that you already have.”

“That I have what?” The kid practically screams the last word, wincing and looking above the camera a second later. “Coach’s gonna be back from dinner soon, so mind your words.” He warns a bit too frightened for it to sound menacing.

“That you’ve prepared a speech already, of course.” She says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world; the boy chokes on his own spit. Nuro just watches the particular playful dynamic in between the two; it’s funny how people so seemingly stoic on the outside can be so warm to each other when in a safe environment. He’s positive she’d be ruffling her brother’s hair by now if she could, still a little baffled at how hopelessly romantic her brother can be. “And you’ve seen and picked cute spots all over the city, and studied your words on a mirror-”

“I did _not_.” he cuts her off as soon as he manages to steady his breathing. “I haven’t - I mean…” He scoffs, defeated. “It’s not like it’s gonna change anything, I’ll fuck up anyways.”

“Now, Champ, why would you say that?” Nuro has to intervene as Otabek looks away from the camera. “You’re one for long lasting first impressions, that’s for sure. Shit, I took you from the streets _once_ and I’m still around.”

Otabek chuckles, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling too wide. He’s one adorable shy little boy, after all. “I’d prefer if I don’t end up sending him to jail, if you don’t mind.”

“That was _one time_ , he can put up with it.” Nuro jokes and the boy scowls at him. “I’m kidding, boy, relax! What did you have in mind, then?”

“For what?” He pauses for a second, trying to make sense of the words; mouths a silent ‘oh’. “Right, um… Nothing really, there’s just some places I wanted to visit. I’m renting a bike tomorrow.” At the sound of the word ‘bike’, Aika clasps her hands together, swooning over the idea, yet he doesn’t give her the time to reply. “With or without him. I just want to see the sights, alright?”

“Whatever you say, little bear.” She rolls her eyes at him, a smirk constant on her face. “As long as you tells us _every little detail_ about your sightseeing, okay?”

He’s about to protest; instead, he sighs and smiles lazily at the camera. “You know I always do.” He runs a hand through his hair, hardly pulling the tangles on the ends loose, as he continues, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you. For picking up. I haven’t been home in a while.”

“Nonsense, kiddo.” Nuro answers way too quickly, he doesn’t let Otabek finish his knowingly too hurt speech. He’s heard it before, the things he’s lived; he can’t put up with it again. “We’ve always be here for you, and we’ll always be. Now go sightseeing!” He adds with a wink. Otabek groans in mock frustration.

“I’m just going for dinner.” He sighs again, this time looking straight at them.”I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Of course, brother. And we’ll be cheering for you!” Aika cheerly waves back at him, a mist of pixels flowing over her head. Nuro really needs to get some new gear.

“Good luck, champ. You won’t come back home empty handed, that I can assure you!” Nuro pull a fist up to the camera for emphasis, earning only a low chuckle and a wave back before the call disconnects.

He’ll come back with glory around his neck, or love linked in his arm, or both. But he’ll get what he’s suffered so much for, Nuro’s certain of it. And he’s good with hunches.

Hunches told him to feed a posh looking stray kid, and he’d never take that choice back.

He’s never been so proud of someone before. His boy’s growing up, and taking the world for himself. Just as he was meant to.


End file.
